Page 60 of Echoes From the Void
“How do you know?” Bishop asks, his Guardian marks pulsing as he scans for threats.
“Because he made sure I saw him locking them up. Every night after bed checks.” The basement door’s hinges squeal as I push it open, the sound carrying years of warning. “He wanted me to know there were consequences. For breaking rules. For asking questions.” Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s understanding—how captors use knowledge as another form of control.
The stairs disappear into darkness. Not shadow realm darkness—just the ordinary kind. The kind that hides ordinary monsters wearing suits and carrying clipboards.
My flashlight beam catches metal filing cabinets lining the walls. Dozens of them, each labeled with years, names, case numbers. A bureaucrat’s dream of perfect organization. Through the pack bonds, I feel their horror building as they realize the scope of Marcus’s operation.
“He documented everything,” Finn says softly, running his fingers over a drawer labeled ‘2018-2019 Transfers.’ His light dims as he adds, “Just like Blackwood.”
The drawer slides open with a sound like screaming children.
Inside, the files are meticulously organized with a precision that makes my stomach turn. Color-coded tabs. Cross-referenced numbers. Each folder a child’s life reduced to data points and evaluation scores. Through our bonds, I feel the pack’s mounting horror as they realize each file represents another lost child.
My hands shake as I pull out the first one. Emily Chen, age 13. “Shows promising adaptation to stress scenarios.” Below that, in Marcus’s precise handwriting: “Responds well to isolation techniques. Recommended for preliminary trials.” Something about the name stirs a memory—Dr. Chen who helped me escape, his desperate urgency, the way he seemed to know exactly what Valerie was doing. Like he was looking for someone.
The memories hit hard—Emily teaching younger kids math, her quiet smile, the way she’d share her meager portions with new arrivals. Disappeared three months after arriving. Marcus said she’d been placed with a foster family in Oregon. Through our bond, I feel Finn’s light pulse with recognition. He’d seen her in the labs.
The next file. Trevor Santos, 15. “Excellent physical resilience. High pain threshold.”
Trevor, who got into fights defending smaller kids. Who made sure bullies targeted him instead of weaker ones. WhoI thought was moved to a group home in Seattle. The pack bonds surge with shared rage as they understand—every disappearance, every transfer, all of it planned.
“Frankie.” Finn’s voice is gentle. Through our bond, he tries to shoulder some of my guilt, his light wrapping around my shadows.
“I should have known.” The words taste like ash. “All those kids. All those convenient explanations. I was so focused on protecting them from outside threats that I never saw...”
“You were a kid too,” Bishop says quietly, his Guardian marks pulsing with protective fury. But I’m already pulling out more files, each one a failure I can’t ignore.
Sarah Williams. Michael Torres. Destiny Jackson. Names and faces blur together, each file telling the same story—vulnerable kids, evaluated like lab rats, shipped off to become evolutionary experiments. Through the pack bonds, their horror mingles with mine, making my shadows writhe with helpless rage.
My fingers brush another file and stop. The tab reads ‘Vale, Francesca.’ Through our twin bond, Finn’s light flares with protective instinct.
“I wondered when you’d find your way down here.” Marcus’s voice cuts through the darkness. “Always poking around where you don’t belong.”
He stands at the top of the basement stairs, silhouetted by hallway light. Still wearing that same pressed suit, that same polished smile. Like this is just another night catching me out after curfew. But through our bonds, I feel the pack’s reaction to his presence—Bishop’s cold fury, Leo’s shadows darkening, Matteo’s predator nature rising.
“How long?” I ask, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. “How many kids did you send to Valerie?”
“From the beginning.” He descends the stairs with measured steps, adjusting his tie. Each footstep echoes with years of calculated cruelty. “That’s what shelters are for, Francesca. Finding the right children. The ones with potential.”
Through our bond, I feel Finn’s fury mix with mine as memories surface—his cage in Blackwood’s lab, my false freedom here. Marcus reaches the bottom step and pauses, studying us like we’re particularly interesting specimens. The pack bonds pulse with protective rage as they sense his clinical detachment.
“You know, you were actually quite useful,” he says, straightening his clipboard. “All those nights you spent playing protector, watching over the others. It helped me observe them. See how they handled stress. Which ones showed... promise.”
The realization hits like a punch. All those times I thought I was keeping watch, I was just helping him gather data. Every interaction, every conflict, every moment of strength or weakness—he was documenting it all. Through our twin bond, Finn’s horror matches mine as we understand the depth of manipulation.
“You used me to monitor them,” I say, the words tasting like ash. My wolves pace restlessly, responding to the pack’s growing fury.
“Efficiently, too.” He smiles like he’s offering praise. “Your presence created such interesting dynamics. Really helped identify the strongest candidates.”
Bishop moves to flank left, while Matteo and Leo take right. Through our bonds, I feel their coordinated movement, shadows extending to cut off escape routes. Marcus doesn’t even glance their way. His attention stays fixed on me and Finn, his eyes fever-bright with purpose.
“The realms are dying,” he says, as if explaining something simple to a child. Through the pack bonds, I feel Bishop’s ragespike at Marcus’s twisted interpretation of Guardian knowledge. “Evolution is the only path forward. Sometimes that requires... sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice,” Marcus muses, tapping his pen against the clipboard. His clinical detachment makes my shadows writhe. “That’s all it would take. One perfect hybrid to bridge the realms. To stop the decay.” His eyes fix on Finn with academic interest. “Valerie was close with you. So close. If you hadn’t escaped...”
Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s light pulse with remembered pain. The pack bonds surge with protective fury—Leo’s shadows darkening despite his bright nature, Bishop’s Guardian marks blazing, Matteo’s predator instincts rising.
“You’re insane,” I cut in, but Marcus just smiles.
